There’s not a summer I can remember not coming up to my grandparent’s lake house. We’d drive 6 hours so I could run to granny’s arms. She’d always buy us poppers (little fireworks that pop when you throw them) and make us mickey mouse pancakes in the morning. My papa would take us out on the boat and after we’d go to Charley’s to get a “bigger-than-my-head” ice cream cone.
There’s just something about tire swings and dirt roads...maybe it’s the way I can hear the loons with my window cracked open at night, or the frogs croaking, or the otters swimming in the lake just 20 feet away. Being on the lake this weekend was bliss. I could have sat on the dock forever with a warm cup of coffee in my hands, reading Luke and watching the lake dance.
I always seem to doze off after a big breakfast of cinnamon french toast and overcooked bacon (just the way I like it). Mid-morning naps in the sun with the breeze combing through my hair. Soon enough, we’ll make the trek into town for a brat and one of those “bigger-than-my-head” ice cream cones.
Being in the middle of a lake, surrounded by glass-like water, and watching the sun disappear. My dad casts a line and I watch the sun and realize I’m here. My mind isn’t wandering off about next week, my low bank account or my future. My mind is here, at the lake.
The difference between living in the suburbs of Chicago and visiting the wilderness of Wisconsin is a breath of fresh air. Being able to wake up to the sound of birds chirping (and a few boat motors!) and walk down to the lake is quite possibly one of my favorite things. There is space here; I can breathe, sing, adventure. There is time here; I can listen, write, watch, read.
Ten deer sightings. One turkey sighting. Countless cranes, eagles, and loons. One ice cream cone. Two pecan pancakes. Two boat rides. One amazing sunset. A million stars. One beautiful adventure.